Falling Reflections
by Katsu
Summary: A little vignette about a long, long fall...


Falling Reflections  
KnM  
  
  
The glass shatters around me, sharps shards biting into my ears and cheeks   
and tearing angrily at my hair as I fly through the sudden, glittering cloud.   
More tiny glitters lodge in my clothing, tearing through shirt and pants and   
skin, until I am a thousand little cuts and scratches; every one of them stings   
in the suddenly too cold air.  
  
It doesn't matter, though, I'm falling. I can feel gravity take firm hold of me   
and pull me through a second cloud of silvery glass, faster and faster toward   
the ground. Strangely enough, the faster I fall, the slower the world   
becomes, each movement flowing like molasses into the next.  
  
I've never felt so free in my entire life.   
  
It's odd how only the scratches hurt. My middle is only a dull ache, nothing  
compared to the sharp little pains that my nerves are broadcasting from the  
glass. I'm leaving a trail of blood in the air, droplets of it dripping regularly  
away from me as I continue to fall, faster. There's a gunshot wound in my   
gut, I know. I heard the sound, smelled the powder right before the world   
shattered around me.   
  
I want to bring my hands in to clutch my stomach, to stop the red blood that   
I'm leaving behind me, sprayed out across the china blue and white of the   
sky. It doesn't seem right, red on the perfect sky like that...but my hands   
won't move. I'm frozen, spread eagled like I'm about to do an enormous   
back flop into a swimming pool. I can see an endless glass wall that is the   
skyscraper rushing up and up, under my feet; no, it can't be a wall, because   
then I would be on my back, so it's the floor, and it's one big moving   
sidewalk speeding along beneath me.   
  
I can't be falling; I've made it through the war, I've made it through the   
peace and back into life. Eighteen year olds don't take swan dives out of   
skyscrapers with gut wounds. This isn't the movies. This is life. My life.  
  
So the wall is the floor and the sky is the wall and up is front and down is   
back, and I'm stationary; the world is just moving past me.  
  
The air is rushing past me, faster, faster. It feels like a cold cushion; my   
arms and legs are numb, I can't feel anything. My braid suddenly frees itself   
from my collar and whips up past my face, hanging out in the sky with the   
blood and the clouds and the deep blue. So pretty...I'm momentarily blinded   
by the glass around me as it catches the beautiful white sun, splintering its   
light into my eyes. Then I can see myself, broken into a cloud of tiny, tiny   
pieces, all wide purple eyes and streaming hair and blood. Blood...a lot of   
blood, red and thick all over everything, face and hands and soaking my   
clothing. It's funny, because I feel fine, even though I'm shattered like the   
shards and broken apart so that anyone can look at me and see my insides.   
  
When I hit the ground, everyone's definitely going to see my insides, then,   
but I don't think I'll care at that point. You only get to choose who your   
show yourself to when you're alive, but when you're dead it doesn't matter   
anyway.  
  
I wonder what they'll say, when I'm spread out all over the concrete of the   
sidewalk. "Yuck" probably. I'll just be so much meaningless meat, once I'm   
no longer covered by my outer shell. It's funny, when you're alive, it's the   
opposite way around; it's the outer shell that's meaningless and useless, and   
the insides where all the secrets and life lies.  
  
If I ever hit the ground. I'm still falling and falling...  
  
The wind rushing past me feels like hands on my skin, tingling up my spine   
and caressing my neck. Hands...hands... It feels nice, like fantasy and reality   
and a wish all rolled up into one. It numbs the pain of the cuts and makes   
me forget about the bullet lodged in my gut. The top of the skyscraper is   
almost completely gone, off in the distance where I'll never be able to reach   
it.  
  
I don't understand. Why? What's happening?  
  
I said "I love you." And now I'm falling. I'm falling, forever...I don't think   
I'll ever hit the ground.  
  
I can see my hands in my peripheral vision, stretched out like wings against   
the dark ground encroaching on my shining, china blue--eye blue sky. My   
fingers are long and thin and delicate, chilled white with the rushing air like   
feathers. Wings, then, so I should be flying. But I'm falling and falling and   
falling...  
  
I remember the picture of death I saw in a book once, the angel with a   
wicked, promising smile and black, black wings. So I should be flying,   
now, shouldn't I? I am death, after all. Even in peace, I'm still here, because   
I'm always with people, no matter where they hide. But I'm falling with my   
blood and my hair and the thousands of glittering shards around me.  
  
It will never end. Never...never...never...  
  
Look into his eyes and smile... "I love you."  
  
Heero, why?  
  
The ground reaches up and catches me.  
  



End file.
